Impact
by DivineMissP
Summary: One terrible moment changes everything.
1. Chapter 1

Phryne had just flounced away from them and headed towards her car, parked illegally (as usual) in front of the station, in one of the spaces reserved for police vehicles. He had just tipped several coins into Constable Foster's palm (he and Collins were about to depart for the pie cart), and although he didn't yet know it, that was the moment his life changed.

He heard her panicked "No! no!", the screech of tyres and the muffled thud, and saw Collins' face morph from disbelief to all out terror, and the young man didn't even look back at Jack as he lurched away from him and toward the road.

As he did, Jack turned and started moving in the same direction, but although his legs were moving, his brain was taking much longer to to process the scene before him, and it seemed as if time had slowed to a crawl.

A woman with a baby on her hip was screaming hysterically on the footpath "Jimmy! Jimmy! My baby! Jimmy!" Jack suddenly recognised the woman; at this moment her husband was in their lockup, living up to his 'drunk and disorderly' charge. As he watched, the woman turned to a young girl beside her, clipped the side of her head so hard that she fell to the ground, and wailed "You were supposed to be watching him! My baby!"

Jack's attention was caught by the bright red bag that lay abandoned near the girl, on the footpath, where its owner had hastily dropped it. His gaze shifted to the matching cloche, upturned in the gutter, its once-proud feathers bent and slick with the oil from the road, and his stomach lurched as he noticed the silky black strands caught in the bent hatpin that protruded from within it.

He turned to his right, where a man was being hauled bodily from a black car by several onlookers, his face contorted in misery. "The little one – he just stepped out! She tried to grab him! I couldn't stop! I couldn't stop! He just stepped out…"

His peripheral vision alerted him to a single feather dancing merrily in the breeze, seemingly held in the outstretched hands of the mascot that reached forward over the car's radiator grille. Below it, on the bumper, a smear of something wet and red, and a drooping scrap of bright silk; the silk of the dress he had been silently admiring, not five minutes before, as she had perched in her usual spot upon the edge of his desk.

Abruptly, the noise and confusion of the scene cut through the fog in his brain. He saw Collins kneel to look under the car, then scramble away, ashen, to heave his breakfast into the gutter. Suddenly he was screaming her name "Phryne! Phryne!"

He bent near the grille; a spill of straight, black strands, and a tangle of golden curls. His voice was harsh, "Get out of the way! Out of the way!" and he didn't care what he had to do to get to her. He shoved someone aside, he would never know who, and dropped to his side on the road behind the front tyre.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness under the car, and as they did the golden head moved; and screamed, as it realised it was not only hurting, it was trapped – tangled in her arms, and wedged firmly beneath her. He heard the mother's wailing start again, this time in relief "Jimmy! Jimmy…"

The contorted, tear-stained face turned to his, and a tiny pink hand reached out for him. He gripped the arm and tugged. Harder. The boy's screams intensified as Jack finally managed to haul him into the sunshine. His left hand and cheek were grazed, and he was smeared in blood; definitely not all his.

He returned his attention to the silk-clad sleeve that had dropped limply to the ground when relieved of its bundle. He reached for it, before realising that, of course, her left was closer. He grabbed the limp hand – blood oozed from the torn fingernails, and the graze that covered the back of her hand and continued up and beneath the shredded fabric on her arm. He squeezed it.

Nothing.

"Phryne!"

Nothing.

He wriggled closer, nudged her shoulder. "Phryne!"

The jet lashes finally struggled open. Oh thank God. Thank God. Thank God.

"Phryne…"

"Jack…" Her voice was weak, and her pale eyes were understandably confused. "You've been in an accident… You're alright… Don't try to move…" He squeezed gently on the bloodied hand. "Just give me a second…" He hauled himself out, and motioned Hugh to his side for a quiet word, "Telephone Mr Butler and tell him what's happened, ask him if he can contact Doctor MacMillan, then I need you back here with the others to keep this mob under control" and he jerked his head at the ever-increasing crowd.

He slid back under the vehicle, someone yelled at him that an ambulance was coming, and relief flooded through him.

It was short-lived.

His eyes soon became fully accustomed to his dim surroundings, and he pulled away to assess her.

She was awkwardly wedged beneath the chassis and motor, her left leg straight on the ground, her right bent at the knee, the hip angled upwards and a little toward him. Her torso was twisted, her right shoulder held in place from above, angling her chest slightly toward the ground as she faced him.

She looked strangely like a beautiful doll, carelessly discarded on the floor when the fun had ended; the still-perfect red of her lips, the long, dark lashes, her glossy black hair, and the bright, printed fabric of her tailored costume – but dolls didn't bleed.

Her arm wasn't the only thing that had been grazed by the road surface; as she moved her head he saw that her left cheek and jawline were also oozing, and there was a slick, dark mat of hair two inches above her left ear.

Her short, shallow breaths indicated that she was having trouble breathing, and there was a suspiciously dark patch spreading from under her right arm, down across her abdomen.

He took in the shredded skin of her left leg, the bright patent of her shoe scraped to reveal the paleness underneath, and the broken heel of her right, at the base of her bent leg.

Her clothing had been dragged up her body and was hitched up around her hips and waist, exposing the kind of underwear Jack had only ever seen in contraband photographs passed around in the trenches; except far more expensive. Pale silk stockings, topped with pink bows and several inches of fine pink and cream lace, which was torn in places where several of the button-clips of her garters had been violently pulled away. The freed garter ribbons were tangled in the lace-hemmed legs of a pale pink silk step-in; they were bunched around the bottom of her satiny pink girdle, which was fastened up the curve of her hip by a row of buttons and loops in the same fabric.

He moved to pull her dress down to cover her, but it wasn't going to be possible to draw it all the way down. He had noticed the stain of red high up on her right thigh, and now the realisation struck him; the leg wasn't bent by choice – the red marked the place where it was pinned by a thick, greasy piece of metal that had pierced her flesh. He immediately broke into a cold sweat; in the trenches he had seen a man bleed to death in a few short moments when his well-meaning fellows had pulled a piece of shrapnel from a similar location, releasing the severed artery it had concealed.

"Jack… what happened?"

He wanted to keep her talking as long as possible, "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Hmmm… we were talking… in your office… I don't remember what about…"

"Nothing after that?"

"No… no… nothing else…"

He took a breath and squeezed her hand. "I didn't see it, but Collins did… A little boy stepped out into the road, and you were trying to save him…"

"Is he–"

"I think he's alright…" she closed her eyes for a second in relief and he squeezed her hand again, "His lungs were certainly working when I pulled him out of here…"

"He was here?"

"Yes… you were holding him…" his voice started to break and he had to turn away from her for a moment. She had acted without hesitation, probably without the slightest thought for her own safety, and no one on the scene was in any doubt that she had saved the boy's life. He flashed back to those terrible moments before she had responded to him, and he had thought…

"Jack…" it was her turn to squeeze his hand, and he reflected that she really was the bravest person he knew. Who knew what pain she was in right now? And she was concerned for him. He didn't think any of his colleagues would be doing as well as she was in her circumstances.

Shouting indicated that the ambulance had arrived; he had to get to the crew and tell them what he'd found, before they inadvertently revealed it to her. He stroked his thumb across the back of her hand. "I'll be back in just a moment…"

She actually chuckled. "I'll be here…"

_tbc_


	2. Chapter 2

Jack scrambled to his feet, and caught a capped ambulance officer by the arm. As he explained the situation, the horrible truth became apparent to everyone – painkillers aside, there was nothing that could be done for Phryne while she remained trapped, but if they tried to free her, they could kill her. Her leg was hard up against the chassis, and Jack couldn't see any way that they could cut through the thick metal in her current position… Shouting and jostling announced the arrival of Bert and Cec on the scene, clearing a path through the assembled crowd for Mr Butler and Dot.

He hissed at Hugh "Get them out of here! I don't want them seeing her like that!" His fury wasn't really justified, but his fear was starting to get the better of him. He tried to clamp down on it as he grabbed Bert by the arm. He explained briefly, then sent him over to the car. Jack heard him say "G'day Miss, in a spot of bother are we?" as he stepped over the kerb and singled out Mr Butler.

"Can you contact Mrs Stanley… We don't want anyone to panic… but I think it's for the best…" Mr Butler nodded gravely as he realised the seriousness of the situation, and moved swiftly to the police station door to access a telephone.

Just then, Mac arrived, and he started his explanations over again. She understood immediately, and wanted to go straight to her friend, but she knew that her presence might scare her at this point. And she needed time to think things through before she became emotional, so she sent Jack back to the car with instructions to send Bert to her; nothing was going to keep him from Phryne for much longer anyway.

Jack removed his jacket – he'd be able to move more freely without it – took a deep, calming breath, and plastered a smile onto his face "I see you've been entertaining other gentlemen in my absence…"

She laughed, and then coughed (there was a slight gurgle to her breath now), and guilt surged through him, but she smiled. "Oh, Jack, it's true, but you'll always be my favourite…" It was difficult for her to speak, but he didn't want her lapsing into unconsciousness again.

"Well, I'm glad to hear it… and since I'm here – while the rest of them are working on getting you out, I think that there's something I can do to make you a little more comfortable…" and he used his right hand to gently lift her head and slide his arm beneath it, and wriggled close up beside her.

He noted, with alarm, that there was blood on the fingers of both hands that had not been there when he had departed earlier. She gave him a resigned smile "I *was* a nurse Jack… I was just cataloguing my injuries…"

He forced himself to meet her eyes with a neutral expression, "And, what was the verdict?"

"Hmmm… Ignoring the grazes… I must have hit my head quite hard if I was unconscious as long as it seems from your version of events; it probably needs stitches…" her mouth quirked, "but I'm not looking forward to having my head shaved!" He chuckled, and she took a moment to catch her breath.

"There's a gash on my back, and I'm certain I've got at least one broken rib… and might have punctured my lung; at the very least it's making things difficult…" He had suspected that, but had hoped it wasn't the case; unfortunately he trusted her assessment.

"Then there's the leg… We both know what will probably happen when they try to get me out…" She looked straight at him and it was pointless trying to deny it. "But in the meantime, the bleeding is getting worse… a tourniquet would probably slow it."

"Alright." He removed his arm from under her head and made a move to slide out into the open, then stopped, "Will this do?" and indicated his tie. She nodded, and he unknotted it and pulled it over his head. Now he just had to figure out how to get it on her leg in the confined space.

He wriggled down beside her, considered the situation, and groaned inwardly – there was no way around it. "Phryne, I'm going to have to–"

She cut him off "Jack, I trust you to do… whatever you have to do…"

For one thing, he was going to need to approach from another angle. As he pulled himself up and away from the car, Mac joined him, and she nodded with agreement at his intended actions. The good news was that Bert and Cec had come up with an idea that just might give Phryne a fighting chance. The car could not simply be towed off her in the way that a vehicle involved in accident normally would be; even if it didn't injure her further, when she started to bleed they simply wouldn't have the time and access to help her – but what about a big truck, with a crane? If they could lift the car upwards, and quickly… Mac explained that the comrades had a friend who used one down on the docks, and had raced away to beg, borrow… or steal if necessary.

Jack was soon on his stomach, dragging himself towards Phryne between the rear wheels of the car. As he reached her left foot she attempted to shift that leg away so that he could get better access to the other, and he had to reach out and help her, with no small amount of trepidation. Again he reflected on her bravery, as his fingers closed on the gravelly stickiness of her calf, and she flinched, but didn't make a sound.

As he pulled himself further between her legs he made the mistake of looking forward towards her body – and was confronted with the sight of the three-buttoned closure of the silk between her thighs, only inches away from his face. He was astonished and disgusted by his own reaction – now was not the time to be thinking of her knickers and what lay beneath.

He forced himself to concentrate – this was going to be difficult enough.

The front garter ribbon on her right leg had pulled away, but what about the others? The tourniquet would not be as effective with them intact. His left hand groped the lacy top of her stocking and found the side ribbon intact, and his fingers fumbled to lift the metal loop from the button. He tried not to laugh – he was probably a little out of practise when it came to these things.

Phryne's psychic abilities kicked in as he reached for the second, slightly more difficult, under her bent leg. "I told you you've been a single pillar for far too long…"

He had to chuckle at that, and if it made her feel better to tease him…

But he wasn't laughing when he realised what he was going to have to do next. The metal's position meant getting his tie around her leg as close as possible to the top. He contemplated for a moment – was there any other way? No, there wasn't, from either direction the action would be basically the same.

His neck was hurting, and he desperately wanted to drop his head down a little – but there was no way he was going to let it rest *there*. He took the tie in his left hand, the end between his fingers, and threaded it beneath her, where the curve of her buttocks met her leg. The fingers of his right hand met his left, and as he pulled, the silk between her legs was caught in the motion, and his knuckles brushed the dark curls beneath.

He was mortified; but once again she came to his rescue as he tried to fix his attention on tying a loose knot.

"You know… this is not exactly how I imagined your fingers between my thighs…"

The sound he made was something between a laugh and a shocked cough, but the retort was out of his mouth before he could stop it "You imagined that?"

"Well… only once or twice… per day." He did laugh then, and she went on, "Don't even try to tell me you haven't…"

He cleared his throat, but remained silent. Even under these serious circumstances this was not a conversation he wanted to be having, especially when he was so close that he could feel the heat radiating from her, and smell her musky scent…

He closed his eyes briefly to regain his equilibrium. "I'm sorry, Phryne… This is going to hurt…" and he pulled hard to tighten the loop he had formed. She arched a little beneath him and he actually felt the muffled cry of anguish vibrate through her. Her left leg had drawn up involuntarily, and as he pushed himself backwards he felt it trembling; and he felt like an absolute dog.

When he moved back in and lifted her head onto his arm, he saw that her eye makeup had run with tears, and her lipstick had been mostly smudged off where she had smothered her cries with her arm. She asked "Will you do something for me, Jack?"

"Anything."

"Will you call Aunt P?"

He reassured her that Mrs Stanley was, no doubt, already on her way.

Another question. "Can I tell you something… a little spooky?"

"Mmm, go ahead…"

"I updated my will yesterday…" He didn't want to talk about this. He couldn't face the possibility…

"It's important… I need to tell you…" The lump in his throat was getting worse by the second.

"I wanted Mr B and Dot to have something… and Bert and Cec too… Mac… and there's a trust, for Arthur, in case he lives longer than Aunt P, and Guy tries to have him committed… I don't want that for him, I want him to be looked after…" He nodded.

"And Jane, a trust for Jane, so she can do whatever she wants with her life… but she won't be able to access it until she's twenty-one… I know this is a lot to ask… but you'll take care of her 'til then, won't you? She loves you… She trusts you… She needs someone other than Aunt P…"

He reached his right hand up to stroke the back of her head. He thought he might cry… He managed to say "Of course. Of course I will, Phryne…"

"I knew you would… that's why everything else is for you…"

"What?!"

"I know that money isn't important to you… but that's why… and if you decide you don't want it, you'll do something good with it… My solicitor is on Collins Street… in that funny building – remember I pointed it out to you one day?"

"Phryne, I don't… Please let's not talk about this… You're going to be fine…"

A horn blasted just up the road, and Jack heard the rumble of a truck. "I have to go… I'll be back soon…"

She smiled "Lucky escape…"

_tbc_


	3. Chapter 3

Previously:

_"__Phryne, I don't… Please let's not talk about this… You're going to be fine…"_

_A horn blasted just up the road, and Jack heard the rumble of a truck. "I have to go… I'll be back soon…"_

_She smiled "Lucky escape…"_

xoxox

Things progressed quickly from there, and the car was soon rigged to be lifted, with Hugh on the ground providing a blow-by-blow account to Phryne. He was soon replaced by Mac, and Jack heard her affectionate greeting "Hey chicken, you really do attract trouble…"

The finer details were discussed by a huddle of men – the lift would have to be accomplished quickly so that she could be seen to within seconds. The crane could only lift slowly, but could easily carry the weight, so it was decided that men positioned all around would hoist the car, allowing Mac and the medics in, and the crane would then take up the slack, until she could be moved away.

Mrs Stanley arrived, Jane in tow (she had collected her from school), and Jack brought them to the car. Jane's eyes were wide and frightened, and he tried to comfort her, but he realised that he must look a sight – dishevelled and covered in blood. They each had their turn to lie on a blanket on the road and speak to Phryne and reach out to take her hand; there was no way known that her aunt could fit under the car, and there was no way that Phryne was going to let her ward clamber under.

The officers of City South station, senior and junior, had erected sheet 'barriers' around the scene, (which didn't prevent people from hanging from the upper windows of the buildings opposite), and now they stood silently in their guard positions and on the pavement, and every man felt for their blood-smeared colleague. They might have thought he'd gone soft, have disapproved of Miss Fisher's interference in their cases, and her adoption of a career in which women weren't welcome, but she was like a bright butterfly in their lives, she brought cake to the station, cold drinks to hot crime scenes (and vice versa), and knew more about their wives and children than their colleagues.

The crowd had gone quiet now – everyone was simply waiting. Dot and Mr Butler took their turn, Cec, and finally, Bert. As he stood again, he nodded gravely at Jack, and inclined his head "You get down there with her… It's what she wants… You won't be needed here…We'll give you a minute, give us a knock when she's ready." They shook hands, Jack took a deep breath, rubbed his hands over his face, ran them back through his hair, and resumed his prior position beneath the car, taking a blanket with him. Phryne's right leg would remain exposed, but he covered the rest of her as best he could; a shield from prying eyes once the lift was completed.

Her face was very pale now, and he saw blood at the corner of her mouth. She was drowsy, and her eyes fluttered open and shut, and every word was a drawn out whisper. "Jack…" He rolled to face her, nose-to-nose, and brought his left hand to her cheek. She watched him struggle against the tears that had welled in his eyes. "Jack… If the worst happens… I want you to remember… I'm so lucky… I've had the chance to say my goodbyes…"

He choked back a sob, and she lifted her own hand, from where it had rested against his waistcoat, to trace the contours of his face; he couldn't look at her as she spoke again.

"I'm going to be horribly selfish and say something I shouldn't… You…and I… You're the most wonderful man I've ever met… The man I never expected to meet… And I love you desperately…"

He sucked in a deep, wavering breath… and pressed his lips to hers with an urgent need. "Phryne…" It was worshipping and pleading at the same time. This was too much, and he felt like he might break apart.

Her fingers raked through the hair on the back of his head, and she pulled his mouth back to hers for a soft, lingering kiss. She kept her forehead pressed to his "Someday, you'll marry a lovely woman who cooks and cleans and makes you go to church…"

He snorted; "Because the last one worked out so well…" and they both smiled. He pressed a kiss to her shiny hair, and she pulled away to look him squarely in the eyes. "Now or never…"

He held her gaze a moment longer, before he lifted his hand and knocked a few times against the chassis.

Feet assembled all around them, blocking out the light, and Bert's voice gave instruction. "Are we all ready? Here we go… On three."

"One…"

"Two…"

"Three!"

In Phryne's weakened state, Jack was unprepared for the scream that tore from her. It was a sound that he would always remember, and always wish he could forget. Her fingers clenched hard into his flesh at his stomach and side, and as the space opened above them and her body was freed to lie straight, he rolled his torso over her, and her anguished cries were muffled in his chest. He looked down at her thigh – it wasn't the pulsing gush he had been dreading, but the red flow was still enough to make him sick to his stomach. Then Mac was there, and he turned his head back to rest against Phryne's tear-stained face.

The world rushed around them, and her gurgling sobs died down to shallow panting. She was trembling uncontrollably, and he held her as tightly as he dared, as he pressed kisses into her hair. She turned her head to the side, and blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. "Oh, Phryne…"

He didn't notice the frantic activity around them, the yelling, the car swinging gently where it had been fixed in place above them; his entire universe now consisted only of her. He blindly followed instructions that he didn't know he'd been given, but he never let go of her hand as he walked beside her stretcher, was pushed into the back of the ambulance, and took a ride through the city that he could not later recall.

She had stilled during the journey, and when they pushed through the front doors of a private hospital with which he was not familiar, her eyes were glassy and her fingers limp in his. He had to let go, he'd been told he had to leave, but he was terrified. Mac was saying something, but he didn't understand her words, and a man in white was pulling him away from her. "Please..." his own voice sounded so strange. He needed just a moment, one more moment; what if it were their last? He bent to press a final kiss to her cool, grey lips, and although he didn't know if she could understand him any longer, he said it anyway, "I love you too…"


	4. Chapter 4

Previously:

_She had stilled during the journey, and when they pushed through the front doors of a private hospital with which he was not familiar, her eyes were glassy and her fingers limp in his. He had to let go, he'd been told he had to leave, but he was terrified. Mac was saying something, but he didn't understand her words, and a man in white was pulling him away from her. "Please..." his own voice sounded so strange. He needed just a moment, one more moment; what if it were their last? He bent to press a final kiss to her cool, grey lips, and although he didn't know if she could understand him any longer, he said it anyway, "I love you too…"_

xoxox

The waiting was agonising. A kindly nurse had ushered him away to a bright, airy sitting area with potted plants, and vases of flowers, and magazines that didn't provide him with a moment's relief from his turmoil. He was followed in quick succession by all of the others, and later by Mac; now that her fingers were no longer required to stem the flow, and she was not in her own hospital, she had been asked to kindly leave her colleagues to their business. She put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and met his tortured eyes, but there was nothing to be said.

All they could do was wait.

The stoic Mr Butler. Mrs Stanley, looking far more dishevelled than was her norm. Dot, her crucifix pressed to her lips, Jane in her comforting embrace. Bert and Cec – grumbling about the time it was taking, and the disgrace that was the difference between a hospital such as this, and any whose beds they might grace – if Jack had heard them, he would probably have agreed.

But he didn't really notice any of them.

He had no idea how much time had passed, how many times he had paced the room, how many cups of tea had been offered and refused. Other families – strangely he did now think of this collection of people who surrounded her as a family – had come and gone, and finally, finally, it was their turn to be summoned. She had no next of kin – Mrs Stanley was her closest relative – but the doctor addressed Jack; it had just been assumed that she and he were… Jack didn't care.

She was incredibly lucky to be alive. Thankfully, her artery had been nicked, but not severed, so they had repaired it, and the wound had been closed as best could be managed. However, she also had two broken ribs beneath the gash below her shoulder blade, and resulting internal damage. She had received a nasty blow to the head, probably as it hit the ground; luckily her skull appeared intact, and they had stitched her split scalp. Her other injuries were all superficial – extensive bruising, cuts, and abrasions. They had done everything that could be done for her, it was expected that she would be unconscious for some time to come, and now, once again, it would be a waiting game.

When could he see her? The doctor shook his head. It wouldn't be possible. He would just have to wait with the others. Jack was beyond being polite. He *had* to see her. It was not a statement; it was a threat. Every inch the authority figure, he stepped forward; it was Bert who placed a restraining hand on his arm. A silent battle waged, and, momentarily, the doctor stepped to the side and indicated that he should follow; he didn't even think to look back.

Of course he had seen hospital patients in worse conditions, during the war, when he had visited injured compatriots, but the sight of her was still shocking to him. A bandage circled around the crown of her head, and another underneath her chin, to cover the side of her face. What wasn't covered was black and blue and swollen, and criss-crossed with tiny red cuts. What he could see of her neck and collarbone was also bruised; the same went for her right arm. Her left was bandaged from her fingers up to where it disappeared beneath the sleeve of her gown. He could only imagine what handiwork the covers concealed.

Her breath was shallow and ragged, and she was pale, but at least she no longer had that grey pallor with which she had arrived. She looked so small, laid out in the ironwork bed, and his heart ached. Why did it have to be her? Why not him? Why, today, had he not been a gentleman, and followed her to her car, as he had done so many times before? Nurses came, did what nurses do, and left them alone again. Despite his thanks earlier in the day, he no longer believed in God, as such; nor did she to the best of his knowledge. But that didn't stop him praying to anyone or anything that would listen – please, please, please.

Hours later he felt the first twitch of her fingers, clasped gently in his. He squeezed them, and watched her open her eyes, and struggle to focus on him. "Jack…" Was it a question or a statement? He didn't know. "I'm here…" He pressed a trembling kiss to the bandage-covered temple, and her fingers twitched again. He didn't want to let go, but he knew that he must. "I'm just going to find a nurse…"

As they fussed over her, she fell again into sleep; it was what they expected, and they left again. Shortly after, the door opened, and he was told that now that she had woken, everyone else had been sent home; it was for the best, and they could return in the morning.

He slept fitfully beside her all night, and she occasionally woke to murmur something, usually incomprehensible, and feel the comforting squeeze of his large hand around her small fingers.

Mrs Stanley arrived at 8:00 am on the dot, and he did not think he would have wanted to be in her path at the exact moment visitors were allowed into the ward. This might be a hospital for the wealthy, but even among her own kind she was a force to be reckoned with. Dot arrived not long after, Jane in tow; news of the accident was out, and Mr Butler had stayed home to answer the increasing number of telephone calls and knocks at the door.

Jack didn't want to leave, but he felt he must, at least for a few hours, and leave her in the company of her actual family members. His befuddled brain took his worn-out body to its most familiar location, and his entrance to the station was met with surprise and trepidation – none of them had yet heard of Miss Fisher's condition, other than what Dot had relayed to Hugh last night – but there was little else he could tell them. Having showered and changed into a spare set of clothes he always kept there, to his own surprise he soon found himself being propelled back out the doors by his colleagues – there was nothing to be done that could not be dealt with by others that day.

Back at the hospital, he was alarmed to find that Phryne's temperature had risen in his absence. She had not woken in the time he had been gone, and now her hand was hot and clammy in his. Nurses came and went with increasing regularity, and the crease in Mrs Stanley's brow grew deeper as the afternoon wore on. Mac stopped by briefly – she was on shift, but she had flown across town to see her friend with her own eyes. She reassured him – Phryne was strong, and she had every good reason to fight – but the flush on her skin kept deepening, and spreading.

Dot and Jane left in the early afternoon, and at 5:00 pm Mrs Stanley was politely asked to leave as visiting hours were over. He should have pointed out that *she* was Phryne's relative. That he had no legal connection to the patient lying in their bed. He should have given up his place for her. But he didn't – his treacherous heart would not let him speak the words that he rightly should have, and she left, but with an understanding nod in his direction.

At some stage Phryne started trembling, sweat shimmered on the skin that was visible, and she started to mumble. The attention to her became frantic, and a nurse now sat across from Jack at all times. With her other injuries, it was impossible to put Phryne in an ice bath, so ice was brought to her, wrapped in sheets and packed around her body. A fan was stationed in the corner, and again and again they mopped her face with cold, wet towels.

Her words became clearer; she was speaking in French. He had never become fluent, but he knew enough to recognise that she wasn't in a happy place. She convulsed and thrashed and called out – who knew what horrors she was revisiting under the influence of her pain, the fever, and the opiates flooding her system? She repeatedly called for *him*, and he squeezed her hand, and stroked her cheek. "I'm here, Phryne… Don't worry, I'm here…" Every fibre of his being he concentrated on willing her fever away.

Finally, thankfully, it broke in the early hours of the morning. She quieted, her glowing skin slowly paled, and her ragged breath became shallow once again. The activity in the room died away, and he was left alone with her, his exhaustion compelling him to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

_tbc_


	5. Chapter 5

Previously:

_Finally, thankfully, her fever broke in the early hours of the morning. She quieted, her glowing skin slowly paled, and her ragged breath became shallow once again. The activity in the room died away, and he was left alone with her, his exhaustion compelling him to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep._

xoxox

When he woke, mid-morning, Phryne was sleeping as quietly as her injured lung would allow, and the swelling in her face had reduced somewhat. She still looked terrible – the bruises had darkened further – but he would *never* tell her so. He was informed that the Mrs Stanley, Dot and Jane had come visiting again, and having seen him still sleeping beside her, had departed, to return a little later in the day. He felt guilty; but at the same time he was selfishly glad to have Phryne to himself.

At some stage he was going to have to return to work, but not until she had woken and he was certain she was out of danger. Sooner or later his absence was bound to be noted by his superiors. He had never truanted from school, let alone the Victorian Constabulary, and he should have felt – what? Guilty? Afraid for his career? – but he found that he simply didn't care. At this moment in time *she* was the only thing that mattered to him.

So, he sat. And stood. And paced. And looked out the window, without really seeing the view. A thoughtful nurse had brought him today's and yesterday's newspapers, but they only served to agitate him more.

SOCIALITE STRUCK – BOY SAVED screamed one, accompanied in the central photographic pages by 'The terrible scene outside City South Police Station.' When had it become commonplace for such a dreadful happening to be replicated for all the world to see? It sickened him. The scene was chaotic – her hat was still in the gutter – and there *he* was, in suspiciously dark-stained shirtsleeves, his despair evident by the way the fingers of both hands tangled in his hair. It was taken from some distance, but he was sure that anyone who knew him would be able to recognise him.

Today's article was just a follow-up that re-capped the previous details, and stated that her current condition was unknown. And that word again. Socialite – another of those American words that had appeared from nowhere in the last year or so, and was suddenly everywhere. He knew what was meant by it, but he hated it; it wasn't her at all. In his mind it drummed up images of what he had thought she was, on that day they had first met. Before he had known that she was complex, intelligent, vibrant, fierce, loyal, generous, strong, kind… before he had fallen in love with her…

He couldn't say exactly how long he had loved her, but he knew that he did, with a desperate passion. Of course he hadn't been completely oblivious to his feelings before, but he had always thought that there was a way back from them. He had always thought it inevitable that one day she would simply disappear from his life as quickly as she had appeared, and when that happened he would be crushed by her absence, but he would move on with his life.

Then there had been the death of her friend, Gertie, when Jack had thought that day had come. When it had not been her in that car, he should have been relieved, and perhaps he was, but the overriding emotions had been sorrow and anger. In spite of her choice of lifestyle, *she* had cultivated this relationship with him, had slowly and carefully been the one to draw him out, let him know, in a myriad of ways, that she cared about him; and he had thought that maybe, just maybe, in time, they could find a way to be together.

What she clearly didn't care about was the hole that she would leave in the lives of those around her if she were gone. He could never be with her; he had always known that she was reckless, but in the aftermath of Gertie's death he saw that she also had a callous disregard for the consequences of her actions. Removing himself from her life had been incredibly difficult, but necessary; she would destroy him. It had cut him to the core, but he had been strong in the face of her shocked realisation, and he had done it.

It had only been a matter of weeks, though, before she was back in his life; although at least not at his instigation. But what he had learned was that, no matter how much he might wish it, he couldn't stay away, and like a sailor following the call of a siren, he was doomed. He had accepted it, and decided to take whatever she was prepared to give him, but that didn't mean he was going to rush into anything.

Now, as he looked down at her broken body, his regrets rose and threatened to overwhelm him, before he clamped down on them; he needed to be prepared for whatever came. A fever could wreak havoc on the brain, and sometimes the person who awoke from one was just a shadow of their former self. And until she did wake, they would not know the true extent of the damage to her leg. He had already decided that he would do whatever it took – even give up his career – to help her recover, or, if the worst happened, just to be there for her. But he was optimistic; she was nothing if not adaptable, and if her life was not to be what it was just two days before (had it only been such a short time?), then she would find a new way to live her life to the full.

He was used to snatching sleep wherever he could, and that night he slept, again, in the chair beside her.

He was woken the next morning with a most welcome pot of tea, and a cooked breakfast. He was still astonished by the 'service' in this place (he had even been provided with the means to have a shave), but he supposed that, if you had enough money, anything could be made available to you, and by extension, your loved ones. He had thought, at first, that perhaps Mrs Stanley had guaranteed Phryne's medical costs in order for her to be admitted here, but he had later been told that that it was Phryne herself – she really did think of everything. Mac had been aware of her wishes, should anything happen to her, and a call to her solicitor had been all that was required. He shouldn't have been surprised – she knew as well as anyone that trouble had a way of finding her, and naturally she would want the very best of care.

As he poured his second cup, she stirred, and he immediately reached for the hand that wasn't bandaged. Her lashes fluttered open, and she looked at him with confusion. "Jack?..."

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty…"

She tried to smile, then grimaced "Oww… everything hurts…"

"I'm sure it does… You've had a pretty tough time of it… Try not to move…"

"What happened?... And where am I?"

"You're in the hospital, but I'd rather you try and tell me what happened… What can you remember?"

She was still for a moment, before giving the slightest shake of her head, "I don't know… sorry… I'm really not sure…"

"That's alright." He was just thankful that at least she seemed able to respond normally (well, as normally as one could in her condition).

She slept again until her aunt, Dot, and Jane appeared, and when they did nothing was said about the actual accident – they were all just glad to see her alive and awake. But later, she woke again, and they started over.

"You were hit by a car."

She considered that for a moment. "There's… maybe… a flash of something… I don't know… When?"

Good – a little memory loss was to be expected, but more questions meant that she was forming coherent thoughts. "On Tuesday… Today is Friday."

"Was it… It was near the station… wasn't it?"

"Mmm" he nodded.

She closed her eyes, and he wondered if she were drifting off again, but then she squeezed his fingers. "You were there with me…"

A lump formed in his throat, and he brushed his thumb across the back of her hand.

She opened her eyes again and looked at him with as much of a smirk as she could muster. "Correct me if I'm wrong… but I'm fairly sure… You kissed me..."

He deadpanned "You kissed me back." Her smirk widened into a grin, "I think that we've had this conversation before… Are you… planning on doing it again some time?"

"Not at all…" She tried to pout and it was his turn to smirk, "If there's one thing I've learned around you, Miss Fisher, it's that there's no point in planning anything."

She smiled, but then she closed her eyes again and said "Phryne."

"Pardon?"

"Phryne… No-one says my name like you do… I love to hear you say it…"

His thumb brushed her hand again, "In that case, I shall endeavour to say it more often… Phryne."

"Wonderful…" She let out a long, slow breath and he watched her drift gently off to sleep once more…

That afternoon he was told that, as she appeared to be over the very worst, he would be restricted to the standard visiting hours from now on.

On Wednesday, his mother had left a message with the station asking him to contact her – the newspaper article had been seen. On Thursday night, another. Friday evening, when he finally dragged himself into the station, he was confronted by something unexpected.

His family knew that Jack was a busy man, who worked unusual hours, and was often away from his desk, but still – it was unlike him to leave a message unheeded. His father had taken matters into his own hands, and had come straight from his job in the city centre. No, the Inspector wasn't in. Yes, he was expected at some stage; he had telephoned earlier. No, they couldn't say what time. Yes, he could wait if that was what he wished…

He rose from the chair opposite Jack's desk as his son entered, and shook his hand. Jack sat, and cast an assessing look at his desk, which was surprisingly clear. His father gave him a penetrating look. "You look terrible."

Jack gave a lopsided nod that said 'It's true; I don't care'.

They sat in silence for a moment, then "What exactly is this woman to you?"

What was Phryne to him? How could he possibly explain what she meant to him?

"Everything…"

His father gave a slow nod "I see…" and Jack understood that he really did.

_tbc_


	6. Chapter 6

_Previously: On Friday Jack had finally returned to work – where his father was waiting for an explanation – as Phryne had finally woken that morning, following the accident, and her subsequent fever._

xoxox

On Saturday afternoon the bandages were removed from Phryne's head, arm, and left leg, to allow the dried out grazes to breathe, and she was allowed to sit up for the first time. It was painful – her bruises were still dark and an impact such as she had sustained would leave her aching for some time to come – and Jack felt guilty again just watching her. But she rolled her eyes at him and smiled, "Don't look at me like that; I'll be out of here in no time… you'll see."

She went on, "Speaking of getting out of here… What happened to my car?"

Well at least she wasn't planning an escape… "Bert picked it up. The day after…"

Two days later, as he sat beside her, she suddenly said "The car… I think that you should probably… use it."

His confusion showed on his face, and she reached for his hand.

"Jack… I know I look bad, but you're not looking too great yourself–"

"Thanks." He looked at her teasingly, and she rolled her eyes.

"You know what I mean… I can see that this is very wearing on you… Catching trams, and cabs, and walking, waiting for a car to become available so you can dash over… Then there's the cost… So I want you to use the Hispano."

He really couldn't think of any argument, so he agreed.

She squeezed his hand, "There's something else…"

"Hmmm?"

She hesitated slightly, but then "I want you to stay at the house…"

He couldn't hide his surprise at that; had he misheard her?

"I'm serious, Jack. When was the last time you slept in your own bed?" It was a rhetorical question.

She was right. Since the accident he had slept only here, beside her, and at the station. He had only been 'home', to the boarding house where he was now living, a couple of times to swap out his clothes. But what exactly was she saying? He rubbed his jaw nervously, and, as usual, she didn't fail to notice.

"Jack…" She pulled him closer to her. "It's just… I want you to be looked after. When you're not here with me, you're at the station… You're not looking after *yourself*, so it's time someone did it for you. I want you to be able to go home, and be fed a good meal – I would wager you haven't been eating at the station – and I want you to sleep properly in a comfortable bed."

"I really don't think that Mr Butler–"

She cut him off mid-sentence, "Mr Butler and Dot won't have any problem doing exactly what they're paid to do… and I can guarantee you that you are lower maintenance that I am… Please, Jack…"

He had considered it for a day or two, but by then Phryne had enlisted Mr Butler, Dot, and Jane to her cause, and in the end, he hadn't the energy to argue.

Although she was still in a lot of pain, her breathing was normal now, and the grazes were slowly starting to disappear. She didn't care about the damage to her arm and leg, but her face was another matter… Luckily her cap of hair hid some of it, but more than once he noticed her sorrowfully fingering her jawline – there was no denying that Phryne was vain, but he personally thought she had good reason to be. And although her skin would undoubtedly look a little patchy for some time to come, he was sure that she would be able to mask it with her face powder; and as far as he was concerned, her beauty had not been diminished one iota.

Her consolation was that, although it may not yet be possible to use her usual cosmetics on her damaged skin, every day now her eyes were made up, her brows pencilled, and her customary red pout was flawlessly in place; she said it made her feel more normal, and that pleased him. She was also very happy to be wearing her own robes and silken nightgowns again, which Dot had taken to swapping out at every opportunity.

The only other things that she lamented were the two bald patches in her shiny hair – a large one where they had shaved so that they could stitch her split scalp, and another smaller area where her hatpin had pulled during the impact. He had pointed out that she nearly always wore a hat in public anyway, and that he was sure her hair would have grown enough by the time she left the hospital to sufficiently cover the areas of pink; she had retorted that she wasn't planning on being here for that long. He had changed the subject – he was not about to get into an argument with her about the length of her stay.

She *was* going a little stir-crazy; he had (with a perfectly straight face) suggested that she might take up needlework. That had been met with a look that said he should just *try* suggesting it again, and a retort that perhaps *he* should take it up instead.

_tbc_


	7. Chapter 7

_Previously: Phryne told Jack to make use of her car and her home, and in the meantime she's been going a little crazy stuck in hospital, but at least she has her beautiful robes and her lipstick._

xoxox

Now that Phryne was able to sit in her hospital bed in relative comfort, the flood of other visitors started.

The women wrapped in decadent silks and furs, dragging their husbands, who regarded Jack with barely-veiled suspicion; and her fellow Adventuresses Club members, who viewed him with the very greatest of interest. Friends of Aunt Prudence, aviators, artists, jazz musicians. Samson and Miss Parkes from the carnival, Miss Leigh from the bookshop, with Simon Abrahams (Jack didn't like the way he looked at Phryne), all three of the Freemans (he also felt an unjustified twinge of jealousy that Vic had driven all those hours to Melbourne to see her), Lin (another even bigger twinge) and his wife Camellia, the Fleuri sisters, Mr Tarrant and his actress daughter Leila, Miss Charlesworth, Monsieur Anatole, and of course her childhood friend Raymond was a regular.

Jack knocked and was admitted to her room one afternoon to be confronted with one visitor that he had not been expecting. "Rosie!…" The three of them had spent an awkward quarter hour before she had departed.

Phryne started, "Well, that was…" but neither of them knew how to finish. Apparently, Rosie had seen the newspapers, and had swallowed her pride and resentment to come to check on Miss Fisher's wellbeing. Phryne had received her with good grace, and Jack supposed that he was grateful that the two women could hold a civil conversation.

He had a surprise visitor of his own in mind for Phryne, and he broached the subject with a little apprehension, "My mother… wants to come and visit you… but I'll understand if you don't want to… I know that the circumstances aren't exactly ideal…" But, in spite of her current appearance, she had been rather pleased, if a little anxious, with the request, and it had been arranged.

Jack had taken Phryne's car to collect his mother; but if it was a surprise to her, her neighbours were positively astounded. When he had told her he would bring a car to collect her, she was not sure what she had expected – surely not a borrowed police vehicle? – but it certainly wasn't a shining red roadster. Jack explained, but she wasn't quite sure what to make of it; and why on earth would anyone want to travel at 85 miles per hour?

Phryne was bubbling with anticipation when they arrived. Jack was momentarily thrown – had she had a haircut? She brushed her fingers along the underside of her bob and lowered her voice to a secretive level. "It's not quite up to usual standard… but I'm not sure what they'll do to me if I complain!" She winked, and it was his mother's turn to be taken aback.

Introductions over, he had retrieved the items he had left just outside the door, and thereby revealed his plans for their lunch.

She clapped her hands with glee. "A picnic! Am I allowed outside? Oh, Jack, I do love you! How wonderful!" He smiled with satisfaction. Yes, it had taken a little of his charm, but for the first time she was going to be allowed outside and into the gardens without the presence of a nurse, beyond the previous boundary of the wide verandahs.

He helped her into a wheelchair, and she took the hamper onto her knees, taking great care to avoid the injury on her upper thigh. They took a blanket from the end of her bed to augment the picnic blanket, her pillow, and purloined the cushions from the two visitors' chairs. These he surrendered with an unceremonious, "Would you be so kind, Mother?" and they were away, to find a slightly sloping position in the dappled sunshine, looking out over the lush gardens.

For her part, Jack's mother was struggling to come to terms with the emotions warring within her.

She had to admit that the entire family had been a little sceptical when her husband had repeated Jack's words; after all, Jack wasn't a ladies' man, but now he was suddenly free to do as he pleased, and it wouldn't surprise them if her long-neglected son simply latched onto the first woman who came along and showed an interest in him.

From Jack's first stories of his encounters with Miss Fisher, the family had known that she was well-to-do. What he had failed to tell them was… almost everything else. His mother had come here today expecting to find perhaps a plain, rather mousy woman, who had somehow managed to insinuate herself into Jack's work. Instead, there was this immaculately painted Dutch doll in her beautifully embroidered silk sleepwear; intelligent, vibrant, witty… and flirtatious.

Having now met her, she was unsurprised by Jack's attentions to the woman, although she still wondered when, and how, this had happened. It was true that he was a private man, but still, he had said nothing. Nothing. He had simply responded in the affirmative when occasionally asked if she had been involved in any of his recent cases, and none of them had ever suspected any other attachment to her; in fact, there had been another attachment on their minds.

They knew that Jack had done his best to support Rosie, after that horrible business with her father and her _fiancé. They had felt, under the circumstances, that they ought to support her as well; after all, her only other remaining family was her sister. She had been invited to dinner with them, and everyone had noted her changed attitude to Jack, and his care of her. Eyebrows had been raised; was a reconciliation on the cards?_

Now she knew, without any doubt, that Rosie stood no chance against Miss Fisher – Phryne, as she had been asked to call her. In her presence, Jack had come alive in a way that his mother had never imagined; there was something here that she had never seen in him before. Sure, when he and Rosie had been married they had been in love, and he was a bright-eyed, determined boy (she had still thought so, anyway) – a little bit of a larrikin. He had come home from the trenches a serious and reserved young man, aged beyond his years. He was her son – her love for him could not be diminished – but he and his wife had never been able to resurrect what had been lost.

Here, on this blanket, she was seeing Jack as she had not seen him for fifteen years. He was relaxed – he had removed his jacket and rolled his sleeves and was leaning back on his elbows, legs crossed at the ankles. He laughed, he teased, and they bickered, good-naturedly. And yes, he was definitely returning her flirtation; when Phryne leaned to spoon potato into his mouth (yes, he actually let her do that!), Jack had given her a look that brought to mind a slavering wolf, and Phryne had returned it, as a lamb, stepping willingly into his jaws. The heat that flickered between them was not the sort of thing on which a mother wanted to dwell…

But most unexpected of all were *Phryne's* attentions to Jack. She might be the one sitting there injured, obviously in pain in spite of her good spirits, but her care for him was evident in her every glance and touch. It wasn't just the feeding; it was the way she leaned into him, stroked his cheek, poked his ribs, and raked her fingers through his wind-ruffled hair. A month ago, if a fortune teller had told Mrs Robinson that a rich, beautiful, thoroughly modern women would sweep her son off his feet, she would have demanded her money back; but here she was, seeing it with her own eyes.

When Phryne was back in her bed, and Jack collected the hamper to leave, she asked, "Aren't you forgetting something?" and tilted her face teasingly toward him, waiting for her goodbye kiss. He had been affectionate in public with Rosie, would put an arm around her, or press a kiss into her hair, but his mother had *never* seen him express his love with such a kiss, and she had to turn away. Somehow, against all odds and expectations, it seemed that their Jack had finally been brought home.

_tbc_


End file.
